In The Darkness of My Mind
by The Crownless Queen
Summary: AU after the Third task. What if the dark Lord's touch in the cemetery had awoken something in Harry, something he ignored was there? Unfortunately, this is only the beginning for Harry, who now has to live with someone else in his head. Possible Harry/Voldemort.


_Prompts:_ Prompt: "I thought you knew." (The Seven Fics Challenge), abandoned, dangerous (compulsory), bedroom (52 Weeks of Writing 2013 Competition), "You think killing people is going to make them like you, but it doesn't... it just makes people dead!" (bonus), Empty, breakfast (Harry Potter Fanfiction- Writing World Cup 2013), Operation Angst: Multichap (The Not For The Faint of Heart Competition).

_Word count:_7350

Please review :)

**In The Darkness of My Mind**

Harry watched with a kind of horrified fascination as the Dark Lord who had killed his parents and destroyed his life rose from the dead and took a step out of the cauldron his new body had been created in. That man was nothing like the Tom Riddle Harry had met two years ago – this one looked like a monster, with blood red eyes and no nose. He looked dangerous – and he was, especially for the young Gryffindor.

And to say he had thought Snape hated him! This – this harsh feeling which promised pain – this was true hate. It wasn't a "I-hate-you-you're-bellow-me" kind of hate, it was a "I'll-kill-you-slowly-and-enjoy-it" kind of hate.

"And now, Harry Potter, I can touch you."

He had thought he was going to die, he had even expected it. Instead a white hot pain filled his body and he felt like someone was stabbing him and twisting the knife through his scar. Distantly Harry heard himself scream and a dark – but familiar –laugh as the pain burned through him, filling his mind with static as he couldn't think anymore.

Then suddenly it stopped and Harry fought to breathe again. Voldemort didn't let his hand fall back though, his long and white fingers kept ghosting over Harry's forehead.

"See Harry, this is how it should be. You, screaming before me. You're nothing, you're not strong, you're not powerful and I alone, Lord Voldemort, hold true power. But you could be so much more than a pitiful doll at Dumbledore's feet if you agreed to follow me. I reward those who serve me well and I can tell you could be a good servant.

Tell me, what has Dumbledore done for you, apart from putting you in harm's way, in death's path? No don't answer, I haven't allowed you to speak yet. Tell me, what has he done to gain your loyalty? I offer you your life, in exchange for your services. I let you live, and you'll never have to fear death ever again, if only you agree to join me."

"Never," Harry managed to spat through his headache, glaring hatefully at the pale figure towering over him. "I'll never join you!"

"How sad is the fact that you think you have a choice…"

"You can't force me!"

The chalky white finger, who had been brushing over Harry's scar, pressed down painfully on it and the young wizard choked back a scream as pain filled his mind again. It lasted longer this time and Harry wished he could move or even scream, but his body was paralyzed as his mind raced through a hundred scenario who all ended with his painful death. He had thought the pain with Quirrell had been bad, but this was horrible. It was like being boiled alive, getting skinned and having someone put salt on your wounds, being stabbed everywhere and being on fire; all at once. It was hell, and Harry wished it would stop. He'd do anything to make it stop. And suddenly it did.

"I could." And Harry realized with cold dread that he indeed could. "But I won't, because at the end of everything, you'll join me of your own will. You'll come to me and beg for me to accept you, and there's nothing I'll love more than to tell you no and kill you at that moment. It's your fate Harry, and even you can't run from fate."

And pain started again, this time under other laughs, ones that he didn't recognize. This time, the dark took him, and when the pain stopped Harry didn't found himself faced with more a second later.

oO-Oo

When Harry came back to his senses, he was surprised with how painless everything seemed. All that he remembered seemed out of a nightmare – but the pain was the worse. Though it was dimmed by passed time, the memory of what he had felt was enough to bring a shiver of horror down his spine and phantoms pains in his body.

He was on a soft bed and the room he was in smelled clean – hadn't he been in a cemetery last? Where was he now - because surely there had been no bed there and even if there had, no one would have cared to put him on one – and how had he gotten there?

He couldn't move, not yet, but he could hear worried voice talking next to him.

"Headmaster, do you think he'll be alright?" He knew this voice, he was sure he should recognize it but the name escaped him.

"My dear Miss Granger, Harry is safe in the end of Mrs. Pomfrey, and I'm confident she healed him. He should wake up soon, and I expect that when he does he'll have some things to tell us." This voice too was familiar, but where the other had brought warmth and trust, this one brought forth more mixed feelings, like a part of him wanted to hate the person who was talking, while another still trusted him.

Miss Granger… The name was there, on the tip of his tongue, or in this case brain, but he couldn't for the life of him remember it. What had happened to him after the cemetery?

"But… But it's been a week already! What if he doesn't wake? What if he doesn't make it this time?" The voice was distraught, and in that moment the name came back. Hermione, his best friend. She was there for him when no one else was and always had supported him, always tried to protect his life. Perhaps she thought she had failed?

Harry felt himself frown at this. She hadn't failed, she had done her best and she hadn't even been there, so how could she have hopped to protect him. The Gryffindor knew with the clearest certainty that she would have been killed had she been with him, just like Cedric had been.

"Mrs. Pomfrey had to put him under a reparative coma, but don't worry, he will wake as soon as he has recuperated enough. We are confident that in another day or so, he'll be back amongst us and trying to get away from here."

The hate was back. Why was there hatred when he heard that voice?

_What has Dumbledore done for you, apart from putting you in harm's way, in death path?_

Harry mentally recoiled as he remembered those words. Was that the truth? It couldn't be. Right? The man's voice showed care for him, there was no way it could be a lie.

"That sounds like Harry, sir." There was a smile in those words and peace too. It was amazing what emotions words could convey when one couldn't see.

There was a long silence in which Harry tried desperately to show he was awake, but unfortunately his body wouldn't answer to him and he succumbed back to sleep.

The next time he woke up, he found himself being able to open his eyes, though he immediately wished he hadn't. The blinding white light told him one thing however: he had somehow managed to end up in the infirmary at Hogwarts, which meant he was alive – there was no way he would die and find himself in an infirmary, it had to be real. Which meant he was confused. How had he escaped the Dark Lord?

He blinked and his hand found his glasses on the bedside table. Moving his arm hurt, but he needed to see more than blurry shapes. As soon as he put them on the world became cleared and he realized he had a visitor. A sleeping one, more exactly.

A very familiar black dog was asleep at the end of his bed, snoring softly. The sight brought a small smile on Harry's face and he sifted in his bed, trying to straighten himself a little on the bed. Of course the move woke up the dog – his godfather – who japed happily at him and jumped on him, licking his face.

"Ge' way Siri, you' heavy…" Apparently, he could move, but talking wasn't it yet.

Soon enough – too soon – Harry found himself faced with the nurse who examined him with a worried wave of her wand, tuting at results only she could understand. She had told him to go easy on his voice, which actually meant he wasn't to talk until she said he could, because he had to wait for the Potions he had taken to wash of his system. Apparently the particular combination he had to drink had side-effects on vocal cords, side-effects which were easily treated if one didn't talk for a few hours after he stopped the Potions. It wasn't like he had anyone to talk to anyway, because as soon as she had seen him awake she had shooed Padfoot away from his bed to begin her check-up.

He was tired anyway, and being awake for two hours was enough for him to feel like he had run a marathon. He was grateful he didn't have to see anyone yet. What would he say when his memory still had gaping holes – terrifying little black holes, trying to suck everything that surrounded them – and was more than a bit fuzzy?

He probably had been gazing at empty space for a while when Mrs. Pomfrey, worried, shook his shoulder and handed him a glass filled with a Potion he now knew well. With a grateful smile he accepted the peaceful sleep she offered him, and dropped back on his bed, hoping his thoughts would be clearer when he woke up.

oO-Oo

The dreamless sleep was exactly that – dreamless. Harry closed his eyes, breathed and when he opened his eyes again, a day had passed and his mind finally felt normal again. The residual pain he had felt was gone and his voice was usable again.

He wasn't alone though, but that was alright now that he felt right again. He couldn't escape everyone forever after all. His godfather and the Headmaster were there, which meant the room was warded, because he knew Dumbledore would never risk his godfather's life that way, not when the Dementors were still searching for him.

"My dear boy, I think we can safely say you scared us for quite a long time. What happened to you after you took the cup?" Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes had never been so serious and harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt at the thought that he wouldn't be able to tell him much. After all, the fact that his mind was clearer didn't mean he could now remember what had happened after he had passed out from the pain in his scar.

"Couldn't it wait Albus? He obviously still is recovering." Had his position allowed him to, Harry would have hugged Sirius. Though the man's eyes showed that he trusted the Headmaster to know what was best for his godson, he cared about him enough to try to dissuade Dumbledore from his questioning.

"It's better to get rid of the worst first, so that the wound doesn't fester. I swear you can see your friends after that, they've been very worried about you."

Sirius trusted this man. Harry trusted Sirius. So why couldn't he shake off the distrust and dislike he felt for an old man he could only remember liking?

"You really want to know?" The words came easily, expressing both a warning and an invitation. There was also an unsaid pleading that said to head the warning and let him be. It went ignored, of course – perhaps unheard? – as did the warning.

"Yes please. We have to know, Harry. We have to know what happened to you."

The green-eyed wizard sighed and opened his mouth to say that he didn't remember much, but that he was willing to say what he did.

"The cup was a Portkey and when I touched it I found myself in a cemetery. Wormtail was there, and Cedric arrived with me. We had decided for this to be a Hogwarts' victory you see…" Harry's tone was blank as he told them how a voice had said "Kill the spare" and how Cedric had died. "Wormtail tied me to a tombstone, and the name on it was Riddle. There was a cauldron on the ground, with a strange liquid in it and Wormtail began a ritual… He used his hand, my blood – at this he showed them the ugly scar running down his arm – and the bones that were in that tomb.

"What happened then?"

Harry gulped and when he spoke again his voice was but a whisper. "_He_ rose."

"Voldemort?" Dumbledore guessed correctly, making Sirius' whimper.

"Albus, tell me it's not true… He can't have."

"I'm afraid it has. Now Harry, what happened next?"

"Then Voldemort called his Death-Eaters…" harry frowned, or at least he tried to. What was happening to him? It hadn't gone that way, this at least he knew. He could remember the pain in his head as clearly as if he was feeling it again, and he knew no one but Voldemort and Wormtail had been there.

Harry felt himself panic as he slowly retreated in his mind, watching at the same time his body spins a tale of a duel between himself and the Dark Lord while showing none of the distraught he was in, and memories he knew fake in his mind about events that couldn't have happened. He felt like he was trapped in a closed room with no escape in sight, banging on walls that wouldn't allow him to regain control of his own body, to stop whoever was controlling him from telling those lies.

The worse was that Dumbledore seemed to believe them. Seriously, what were the odds that his and Voldemort's wands would connect and somehow allow him to escape death by a few seconds as he took back the Cup that had brought him there in the first place? Had he even come back with that cup? It seemed that he had because the two men didn't look fazed by his story. He desperately wanted to say that this, everything he was saying, wasn't true, but as soon as he thought of this, the walls seemed to close up on him.

He felt himself beginning to suffocate and he morbidly wondered what would happen to his body if he died there, locked somewhere deep in his mind. He didn't pass out, because apparently breathing wasn't a requirement for the mind, but as he listened to his own voice answering question about little details he might have missed, a black laughed filled the silent room. It was Voldemort's laugh, the same he heard every time he remembered his mother's death.

'What have you done?' He screamed at the chuckling voice.

'Nothing that wouldn't have happened in the end.'

'I said, what have you done!?'

'I improved you of course. I thought you knew. Don't worry though, it will only stop from saying what I do not want to be known. I'm afraid this control thing is rather limited beyond that.'

'Limited?' Perhaps there would finally be good news. Well, when he said good… it was all relative, of course. Considered how worse it could be anyway.

'Yes. It seems it cannot be used to hurt you or to do something that would cause you direct and permanent harm. Well, not too much…'

'You took control of my mind?!' the mere idea that this was possible was sickening and made him struggle even more to try to get out of this prison. His own mind wasn't safe.

'Nothing so crude, of course. I merely convinced your mind that his – and by his I mean yours – best interests lied in telling this story. It seems that at least a part of you still possess some common sense.'

He couldn't believe it! His own mind had betrayed him. How could even the tiniest part of him agree with what promises that monster was whispering? It had to be a nightmare, it couldn't be real.

'It's not. A nightmare, I mean. Where would the fun be in that? Remember, I told you you'd be mine in the end.'

With those words everything faded back to black and he found himself finally back in his body. Dumbledore seemed to have noticed a change because he actually paused in his sentence and asked Harry if he was alright.

Oh Merlin, what was he supposed to answer? If what the Dark Lord had told him was the truth then he wouldn't be able to say anything but what if he had lied? Could he even handle the truth, once it was sure? If Harry told the Headmaster what had just been said in his head, the best thing that could happen would be for him to be thought of as crazy and locked up. But considering that the Ministry hadn't hesitated to imprison Sirius for years for crimes he didn't even commit, what were his chances for a crime as terrible as the one he was committing even now? Surely helping the Dark Lord, no matter how unwillingly, was worse than whatever Sirius had supposedly done.

What would his friends think of him? No it was better not to risk it. Plus harry really didn't want to discover his mind really had been taken over by a psychopathic murderer.

"I'm tired, that's all Headmaster. This was tiring, and I'm sure you understand that those Potions… well, I would like to rest please."

"Of course, my boy. We understand, don't worry Harry. We'll leave you to your sleep."

"Promise me you won't blame yourself for what happened Harry. I know what disasters a misplaced guilt can bring, and I really wish you could avoid them."

Sirius' words confused Harry more than anything. What was he supposed not to blame himself for? They couldn't know already what had been going on in his mind just now, could they? They didn't know of his betrayal, so what was he supposed to blame himself of?

Dumbledore mistook Harry's confusion for distress and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, forcing Harry to bite back an involuntary shudder.

"Cedric's death wasn't your fault Harry. Voldemort is nothing but the shade of the man he once was and you can't blame yourself for the actions of such an evil. Cedric's death was an horrible event but you should live in his memory, celebrate the fact that you are alive in his honor."

Cedric. The face of a smiling young man flashed through his mind, quickly followed by a screamed "Kill the spare!" followed by a "Get down!" and a flash of green light. In the blink of an eye he remembered everything more clearly than he thought was possible. He felt nothing though, just a vague indifference. He remembered feeling almost overwhelming sadness and a crushing guilt, but there was no way these might have disappeared so quickly from his mind.

'You ought to thank me.'

Had he been able to, he would have jumped and screamed. As it was the most reaction his body could muster at the moment was to mentally scream in anger.

'What have you done to me?!' The question was becoming a bit too recurrent to Harry's liking, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know all the things that had been changed in him.

'Let's say I just got rid of a few imperfections.' Even without seeing a face, Harry knew there was a smirk on the wizard's face.

Panicked, Harry summoned the memories of his parent's death but he didn't feel anything anymore. He screamed in rage, but all he heard was a laugh and then he could feel himself alone, both in his mind and the infirmary.

Had someone entered the room at that moment, he certainly would have questioned Harry's state of mind. He was sitting on his bed, staring unblinkingly and motionless at the blank wall in front of him. His face showed nothing of the turmoil he was in, but his eyes reflected perfectly the despair he felt.

Into what kind of monster was he turning? What else had been stolen from him, apart from his ability to grieve properly? How could someone even be able to steal someone else's emotions and stop him from feeling them?

In the end, when Mrs. Pomfrey came back to give him his Potions, he hadn't moved from the moment he had been left alone in the aisle, and he had decided never to speak again. After all, nobody could trust what he would say, even if he was the only one who knew it was so.

It would make everything more complicated, especially magic, but he knew, thanks to Hermione that wordless magic was possible. The clever witch had researched it when she had heard a sixth year speak about it and thought it would be useful for him to know, just in case for the Third Task. Of course, it had been well above their level, and when they had discovered that fact, it had been quickly abandoned for more doable spells. It was exactly what he need now though. It would be hard in the beginning but he knew he could do it.

If hard work and probably months of failure were what it took for him not to be dangerous anymore to everyone around him, then he'd do it a thousand times. He couldn't afford to hurt his friends just because he couldn't control everything like he used to.

oO-Oo

Privet Drive was quiet this year, the Dursley still frightened both by 'Sirius the serial-killer' menace and by the fact that Dumbledore had sent them a letter explaining to them all the things that had happened at the end of the year. He wasn't speaking anymore after all, not that his 'family' cared. It seemed the perspective of a Dark Lord running free and after Harry was enough to make them rethink their thoughts to leave him behind when they discovered that the only place safer than their house was a magical castle they couldn't access.

They avoided him; he avoided them, only leaving his room when he had no other choices, preferring to stay inside where he was safe – not for him, mind you, but for everyone else – while trying to find a way to get rid of the Dark Lord haunting his head.

It sounded a whole less dangerous than it actually was. The last time he seen the Dursley, he had been almost taken over by a bloodlust that certainly wasn't his own and only the fact that they had been leaving at that moment had saved them. He was now used to Voldemort speaking at the most unexpected times and tried his best not to totally ignore him when he did.

The megalomaniac didn't like being ignored, and Harry had quickly discovered the last time he tried that, yes, the Cruciatus Curse still worked on him even if it was cast by a bodiless entity and in his mind, and that it still hurt as much.

The laugh though was probably something Harry would never get used to. It was also something he had no problem not ignoring since every time he heard it he could feel it echoing in his head, creeping up his spine and forcing him to watch his surroundings cautiously. He did know there was no way the Dark Lord could actually be there, not with the wards protecting him, but the laugh got to him in a way nothing else could. It made him feel like no place was truly safe and that his worst enemy could show up at any time.

Today however had been a calm day (so far), the only one in the two weeks since he had left Hogwarts where he finally was alone in his mind. He knew better than to think he was free however. The disappointment when he discovered he wasn't would only be worse then. He crossed off one more day on the calendar counting the days until he had to go back to Hogwarts again, reluctant for the first time since he had discovered magic to return to the castle he considered his home.

He had read what the Daily Prophet thought of him and Dumbledore – Voldemort seemed to think that the fact the public was turning on them was very funny – because he had nothing else to do. There wasn't a single paper in which he wasn't insulted, called a crazy attention seeker, and lies about him spread.

At first he had thought no one would believe this, after all people knew him. Surely his classmates would be able to tell their parents the truth about him and they would believe him. But then a too familiar laugh reverberated and he was forcefully reminded of how everyone had thought him Slytherin's Heir in his Second year just because he could speak to snakes until they had been faced with a truth they could no longer deny. The same was true with everything that had happened that year, where even his best friend hadn't believed that he hadn't entered himself in a competition he had never been interested in.

Was the wizarding world truly so stupid that it couldn't think for itself and needed to have someone do it for it?

Harry didn't realize he had fallen asleep on his bed until his white ceiling was replaced with a room that certainly wasn't his bedroom and where he wasn't alone anymore.

He didn't recognize the place, but he knew immediately who the other occupant was. It was his personal nightmare – though he doubted he was the only one who had nightmares about this man after all the damage he had caused – Voldemort, though he appeared as an older Tom Riddle than the one he had met in the Chamber. He looked human enough, with dark hair and a normal nose, but his eyes were already the blood red Harry usually associated with his more 'monsterish' form.

He closed his eyes, counted to three and opened them again. Unfortunately, the other man was still there. Sighing and knowing ignoring what was happening would only make things worse in the end, he claimed one of the armchairs as his own and began to glare at the one who was the cause for all the bad things in his life, the feeling his eyes clearly conveyed being 'Get the hell out of my mind!'

"You know you can talk right? It's your mind after all, I dare suppose you could do almost anything you want in there."

The glare Harry sent him didn't bother him at all, and the message that he was not to be trusted on this kind of question too.

"That wasn't nice. And to say I had planned to answer your questions… Well, that is of course if you can ask them." Tom was wearing an ugly smirk and his eyes sparkled with something akin to victory.

No matter how much he hated him, Harry needed those answers like a drowning man needed air, and so he talked. What harm could it do after all, he was in his mind, there was no one but him to hurt.

"That offer won't stay open forever you know," Riddle taunted him.

"You should never have told me that."

"Told you what?"

"That I could do whatever I wanted in here. Because now there is nothing stopping you from expulsing you out of my mind!"

Hadn't Harry been so angry and finally hopeful that he could do something, he would noticed that the light in his enemy's eyes didn't bode well for him.

"You think it's that easy? Well, go ahead, try. Have fun."

When nothing happened, Riddle's smile only widened.

"Well, I did say almost anything. I'm afraid I've been here long enough for you unconscious to consider me a part of you. So I think I'll just stay here. This room is really nice, you know."

"What do you mean by 'a long time'? You can't have, I'd have known!" He faltered and his blood ran cold in his veins. Could it be true? After all, if the Dark Lord possessed the ability to mess up with everyone's mind like he did with Harry's, he would have used it ages ago and won the war, right?

"Not if I wasn't really noticeable before, or if I didn't want you to notice. You see, Harry, part of me has been here since that Killing Curse failed, it only stayed dormant. And it would have stayed that way probably forever but fortunately for me you then found another part of my soul. Trying to destroy it wasn't a good idea for you, especially because it was able to latch onto the closest part of him there was – you. We've been one for a long time now, and all it took to wake us was a single touch right there." Riddle's ghostly hand brushed Harry's scar, but before Harry had the time to say anything he stopped and resumed his talk. "That touch was all it took to give me the power to influence you and act instead of just watch. So you see Harry, you really always belonged to me."

oO-Oo

Hogwarts quickly proved itself to be as much of an hell than Privet Drive had been, though his decision not to talk actually helped him some because the Ministry had sent someone to observe him and Dumbledore. With the way Umbridge behaved, he was sure he'd have gotten into much more trouble already had. She liked to ask him questions he wouldn't answer – couldn't – and try to give him detentions for not obeying after that.

He was lucky McGonagall hated her, because that meant he had immunity for Umbridge's detention, as long as they were given to him for 'not answering questions'. Mrs. Pomfrey had told all the teachers that trying to make him talk wouldn't work and probably would make things worse. Even Snape had understood this.

His friends however, hadn't been as comprehensive. Ron, especially, who couldn't understand why harry didn't talk anymore. He kept expecting him to open his mouth one day and say that it was all a bad joke – of course Harry knew that this would never happen. Hermione was treating him like he was about to drop dead at any moment which was actually even more annoying.

Of course, he hadn't really expected them to understand, but he had thought that they at least would respect his choice. Instead he was pitied by the Gryffindors – that is, when they didn't hate him for his 'lies' – who seemed to think that because he had chosen not to talk anymore, it meant he wasn't able to hear their whispered conversations or see how they looked at him.

Sometimes Harry dreamed they were grateful to him. After all, he had sacrificed his voice to keep them safe, and they repaid him by hating him. Of course, they would probably never know why he had done what he had, but he had thought his friends would be a bit more comprehensive.

Dumbledore was avoiding him though. Every time Harry looked at the old Headmaster, he turned away and appeared to be in a passionate discussion with whoever was sitting the closest to him at that moment. In the rare occasions they met in a more or less empty corridor, Dumbledore either ignored him totally as he strode past him or he actually turned around and very nearly ran away from his student.

The young Gryffindor couldn't decide whether or not this was a bad thing or not. On the one hand, the less he saw Dumbledore, the less the man could actually discover what was going on his Harry's head and the less Harry had to feel this strange hatred he now knew came from the piece of soul that wasn't his own but resided in his mind. On the other, though, it gave Dumbledore less opportunity to find out what was happening to him and find a way to get rid of Riddle – the one in his head, of course.

Getting rid of Riddle… Harry wasn't sure he wanted the piece of soul stuck in his head gone anymore. These days, it was the only person/thing that didn't judge him or pity him – though Harry just knew that Riddle thought his choice stupid and futile. In the first few days after he realized what exactly was in his head and talking to him – the thought that someone could have played with their soul the way Riddle had, that it could be twisted to the extent of being separated in several pieces that could be scattered had nearly made him sick – he had wanted nothing more than to be rid of it so that things would go back to normal.

But once he had arrived at Hogwarts, and even before, when he read the Prophet and saw that apparently the fact that he didn't talk anymore was a sign of his deteriorated state of mind, he had realized that things would never go back to _normal_. Had they even ever been that way? He was tired of being considered as a mean to an end, discarded as soon as he saved who or what he was supposed to.

If he got rid of Riddle – not only the one in his head, for this he meant the real Dark Lord - he knew the magical world would admire him, worship him even, if the amount of fame he had possessed when entering Hogwarts was any indication. But how long would that last? How long would he have before someone discovered that he had lived the better part of his life with a piece of the Dark Lord in his head? How long after that would it take them to decide he was too dangerous to allow living? After all, they had no proof he had done anything right now – the only accusation being that he was 'trying to destroy the magical world by spreading lies' – but some people in the Ministry were already pushing for him to get locked up in some kind of mental hospital. It was very fortunate Harry was protected in a way by Hogwarts' professors, because eh had a feeling that Umbridge was one of those people and that she would be ever so happy to find a way to expulse him so that he could be left at the mercy of the Ministry's laws. He couldn't be expulsed. Having Riddle in his head wouldn't be nearly as bad as being caught by the fully real Dark Lord.

The few months after the Third task during which he had finally managed to adjust to the presence in his head, had taught him that Riddle and the Dark Lord who had recently risen from the dead were different. They had a lot in common, sure – after all, Riddle stemmed from the Dark Lord's discarded soul pieces, just as the Dark Lord was what was left of Riddle when he had gotten rid of the part he didn't want. Neither was really complete, and it seemed pretty clear to Harry that by getting rid of parts of his soul he didn't want, Riddle had also lost some important things Harry had somehow ended up with.

In short, the Riddle in his head could be described as a saner and more human version of the Dark Lord who had tortured him, which really made Harry thankful for small mercy because he really didn't think he could handle having the fully insane Voldemort unleashed in his head.

He was sure that the fact riddle was the fusion of two soul parts with ages so different, one being a year older than Harry, the other having been created in Halloween 81, was the major reason for his sanity. Of course, he still was mean, a psychopath and Harry knew that should he be given the opportunity, Riddle would torture him until he gave in and followed his orders. However, unlike his crazier counterpart, this Riddle actually seemed to need a real reason before he did something, and he wasn't all that interested by killing Harry's friends.

He was also much more intelligent, or at least better at showing it in his planning, and when Riddle talked to him he could actually really see why he had had so many followers in the first war – because, let's admit it, no one in his right mind would have chosen to follow a mad man who looked like a failed crossing between a man and a snake who liked to torture everything in sight? Plus, Riddle had told him that there had been a goal at first behind the creation of the Death-Eaters – who hadn't been called liked that at first – and that was to remake the magical world by completely, or at least as much as possible, cutting it off from the Muggle world before they were discovered.

Sometimes, Harry could feel Riddle brood at the back of his mind. Those days always were the worst because he not only ended up with killer headaches, but he also was in a foul mood until the presence in his mind stopped brooding. Everyone in Gryffindor's Tower had learned to avoid him as much as they could when he was in those moods.

Of course the Weasleys twins thought themselves the exception to the unspoken rule that said no one could approach him when he was in those 'moods swings' as they called it. They liked to dare each other to talk to him and try to make him smile. It never worked and Harry tended to get vicious when annoyed, and as Fred and Georges quickly discovered, Harry was even more dangerous now that he no longer talked because he couldn't yell at them. Instead, he found the use of some spells really useful to make them go away.

Perhaps the only good thing that stemmed out of this was that he now only had to make a certain look to find himself alone, and even Ron and Hermione had stopped trying to talk to him when he glared at them with a glare that he had heard would make his mother proud.

The brooding almost always transformed into anger though, and Harry quickly discovered that it was better not to ask why it happened and where it came from, especially since he discovered that those bursts of emotions almost always came from learning something his older self had done that went against what he had fought for in the first place anyway. The discovery that so many Pureblood had been killed in the war, be it by him, his followers or the Light's side – and wasn't that a terrible surprise, learning that the side his parents fought for was no more innocent than the one they fought against? Then again, he supposed that war was bound to be that way. It wouldn't called be war else.

Harry never would have imagined that twenty years ago Hogwarts' students population was easily twice the one they had now, and that before there had been so much more Purebloods. So many families had been wiped out… Riddle's goal, the one so many wizards and witches had agreed on had been to keep magical families safe, and Harry could feel that knowing his purpose had ended up lost was disturbing him – after all, as the other wizard had said, he sort of was a part of him.

Harry certainly didn't agree with the methods Voldemort had ended up using, but the thought to separate the magicals from the Muggles, to keep the children safe from people who almost always didn't understand what their children were, and from where there powers came seemed a good one to him.

No, most of the time Tom's presence in his mind wasn't that bothering anymore. And he hated Malfoy too.

oO-Oo

"Why do you stay here exactly? I mean, why don't you just leave and go back to your other self, try to make him better or something instead of staying in my head. And while I'm at it, how come you haven't taken over my body yet and done whatever you wanted with it? Why haven't you killed whoever was in your way?" As he talked, an amazing realization hit Harry and he fell back on the plump armchair he had claimed the first time he had been in this mind-room.

"You can't, am I right? The only reason you're not doing what you evil Dark Lord are doing is because you can't! That's just bloody fantastic!"

Riddle frowned and for a moment Harry thought he was going to get cursed, but then he smirked.

"I told you I was a part of you, just as you are a part of me Harry. I don't need to take you over, because I'm already there."

"How come you appear to me as a different person if you're part of me? And why can't I control you then? You're not part of me, not really. You can't be. There's no way a part of me can be so different from me."

"Ever heard of schizophrenia?"

"Are you saying I'm schizophrenic? Cause I'm pretty sure I'd have found better things to hallucinate about then. Like you not existing for one."

"You're not schizophrenic. And I'm very real."

"Maybe, but you can't really control me so you're a bit useless!"

"Just because I can't kill them or you doesn't mean I can't hurt you, or drive them away from you. I could hurt them, and they'd never see me coming. I could make everyone hate you and avoid you until you end up as alone as me."

"You're _alone_…" His eyes widened in realization, before het let out a bitter laugh. All of this because Riddle felt alone. "You think killing people is going to make them like you, but it doesn't... it just makes people dead!"

"Who said I wanted them to like me?"

"If you don't then why do you keep threatening me just so I let you stay in my mind in peace?"

"You don't have a choice!"

"Of course I do. I could just ignore you, stop answering your stupid chattering, which by the way, is very annoying and distracting, and act like you don't even exist."

"I'd make you talk to me."

"Maybe, but I've been told I could be very stubborn. And anyway, I know you'd rather have someone to talk with than just someone to talk to."

"It's not my fault your mind is boring."

"Are you sulking?"

"Of course I'm not."

"Oh god, you are!"

Harry burst out laughing, and the offended look on Riddle's face did nothing to calm him down and actually confirmed that he indeed had been pouting. For the first time, harry didn't feel relief as he woke up and felt the partially imaginary room fade around him. No, instead there was a strange sense of loss as he awoke in an empty bedroom, his Housemates having already left for breakfast.

It wasn't until he saw the smile on his face in the mirror that he realized that he just had had fun with his parents' murderer. But could he really accuse Tom of that crime? The major personality he expressed was after all the one the diary had possessed, and that Riddle hadn't killed his parents - yet. He almost wasn't a murderer either. Was it so bad that Harry could feel a strange kinship with the wizard?

As he looked in his reflection's shadowed eyes, he knew the answer. Yes. Yes, it was bad, but what could he do about it? There was no turning back time and though he hated himself for it, he no longer wanted to be alone in his head.


End file.
